Be My Bad Boy
by KissTheBoy7
Summary: AU. Freddie is frustrated with the lack of intimacy in his life and, with Florence's prompting, ends up at a club in New York City. KINGS. Anatoly/Freddie. Slash. Rated for swears and strong suggestiveness. Oneshot.


**A/N: Soooooo… I'm back with more random plotlessness that I'm sure someone will enjoy because awkward and Kings. (Like a Virgin by Madonna was giving me feels. Idky.) Also the title is misleading because it's definitely from a Cascada song and not Madonna. XD This is an AU in case you couldn't tell. FEEL FREE to review.**

Disclaimer: _Okay guys… I know this is big- but… I DON'T OWN CHESS. There. I said it._

**Be My Bad Boy**

"Mmph… Oh, God… there…"

"There?"

"FUCK. Yes!"

Panting. Slow, offbeat thrusting. Rustling of the sheets. All of the right sounds were there, and the image was already imprinted onto the backs of Freddie's eyelids but something _still_ wasn't right.

He just couldn't figure it out…

Sighing in frustration, he reached for the remote control and turned the television off, staring moodily at the black screen. Renting porn hadn't been _his_ idea, it had been Florence's and he had known at the time that he was going to regret it later but of course, he hadn't listened to himself.

_Why couldn't you just give her what she wanted, Trumper? Man up!_

It was still impossible. No matter what he tried, Freddie knew deep down that there was no way he would ever be able to sustain an erection for Florence Vassy..

It was so goddamn frustrating. She was _beautiful_. She had the perfect body, the perfect mind! She could beat him in five moves on the board and hop right into his bed with that sultry, hopeful smile, and he would just sit there dumbly without a clue as to what he was supposed to do. Freddie wasn't just frustrated, he was _beyond _frustrated- he was ready to tear his hair out at the roots.

What the fuck kind of man _was_ he?

They had tried, of course- seven years certainly constituted as _trying_, bordering on pathetic really. But as a solution continued to elude them, it finally got to be too much.

For her, not for him. Freddie could have continued living happily in denial for the rest of his life.

"Rent something from the video store… Maybe try someone new," she had suggested, fixing her rumpled blouse after one last unsuccessful attempt to arouse him. "A guy, maybe. Think about it."

He had watched her leave in growing disbelief, paralyzed by her words.

A guy?

Sleep with _a guy?_

But the more he thought about it the less he was opposed to the idea. This probably stemmed, again, from frustration- Florence might not have been able to successfully turn him on, but she had done wonders for his libido nevertheless, never even complaining about his fumbling attempts at reciprocation, and now he was left with nothing but his hand to keep him company. And fuck, but comestains were hard to get out of black sheets.

About six trips to the Laundromat later, he was ready to give it a shot. And this porn fiasco took the cake.

He was _never_ listening to Florence's advice again.

Except that he was, because his feet were already taking him down to one of the seediest clubs he'd ever set eyes on. The neon sign outside proclaimed it to be "The Kink Club" and if that weren't enough to make him cringe, the fact that there was a half-naked man slumped on the ground beside the door in a puddle of what was probably vomit was. Nevertheless, Freddie bolstered his courage and strode inside, determined to get off tonight no matter what the cost to his dignity.

Normally, he was a lot more shy. Normally the thought of being anywhere near another man naked would have elicited a blush and a giggle and then on second thought a snarky comment. But then, normally he wouldn't have even left the house without Florence's prodding. Since their informal breakup, though, he hadn't seen her around the apartment very much and it was beginning to wear on him.

Nervous, he entered the throng and was almost immediately hit with a wave of a smell he could describe in one word: _sex._ The club was full of people wildly dancing, glitter and strobe lights flashing around him making it hard to concentrate, and he blinked rapidly as he tried to get his eyes used to all of the hustle and bustle. Music blared in his ears but he tuned it out easily, far more interested in (and apprehensive of) the back, where a curtain seemed to be separating the majority of the dancers and drinkers from what was unmistakably an orgy.

Should he go join? Was that how this worked? Freddie hadn't the foggiest, and he was starting to get frustrated all over again when a shoulder bumped his- he turned, to apologize or to snap he wasn't sure, but was dumbstruck when his lips met another smooth pair, stubble grazing his cheek.

"What-" he gasped, eyes widening. Oh, no. Freddie wasn't used to being caught off guard. Freddie was a chess player- Freddie was always _five moves ahead_ but real life didn't always work like that, and now this man has caught him off guard, all dark eyes and wild, curly dark hair and a sinful smile that sent the blood flowing right where it needed to be.

"Why hello to you too," he said silkily, thickly accented voice drawing Freddie like a magnet. He sounded… what was it? Russian? The shorter man felt himself flushing, subconsciously pressing closer as people passed them by and pressed in from all sides, swallowing audibly.

"I- I was just leaving," he managed, heart hammering, and to be honest he didn't really think he was going to follow through on those words. Sure, a second ago he was ready to go home and have a glass of wine, pet his cat and curl up in bed with a book, call it quits… but this might be interesting. He would have to wait and observe.

"Well you're not now." Perceptive, mystery man, perceptive. "Where were you headed? The dance floor, or…?" He nodded to the back, where Freddie was certain he had only a moment ago seen the flash of a bare- well, no need to think about it…

"N-no. Home," he clarified, taking a deep breath and drawing himself up, puffing his chest out like he could possibly redeem himself. The other man just bit his lip in amusement, chocolate eyes dancing.

"Already? But you've only just arrived." Somehow he had come even closer, sharing breath, and suddenly Freddie realized that perhaps that "accidental" kiss moments before might not have been so much of an accident. He sucked in a sharp breath, wide blue eyes meeting those dark ones and he was sure his pupils must be dilating by now… He gathered his courage again, one hand raised to his chest lightly, nervously. "Stay awhile."

"I just don't know if this is my scene…" he hears himself say, shuddering with arousal as the other man slips a leg between his, and then his eyes fall shut because who _gives a fuck_.

"How about you let me change your mind?" comes that low, accented voice in his ear and he nearly moans, trembling on the spot, hands coming up to grip his shoulders and hang on for dear life. God, but this is the first time _anyone _has made him feel like this before.

He decided then that he didn't miss Florence's presence in his bed anymore.

"M-maybe- but I should really go-" Struggling to remain rational he jerked away, but the man caught his arm, pleading with his eyes.

"Not yet. Stay." Lips over Freddie's again, brushing with every word. "I'd love to show you around."

"I don't really think I'm comfortable with that," he said a bit more calmly, backing away, although the desperate warmth pooled in his gut hasn't faded one bit. Frustrated, rolling his eyes, the other man exhaled loudly and ran a hand through his tangle of curls searching for the magic words.

"… Fine. Come back to my place, then."

"Or you could come to mine," he found himself blurting, mouth snapping shut as soon as he heard his own words replayed, bright red.

_What?_

What was he thinking!

The taller man's mouth was unfurling into a smirk again, heartstopping, and Freddie felt his blood rushing south again. _Damn it._ He had a feeling that he had no idea what he'd gotten himself into, but there was no help for it now because the other man's hands were already sliding up his sides sensually and he was harder than he'd ever been in his life, trembling all over, unable to believe that he's actually _doing this._

"That sounds great," he murmured huskily, eyes hooded. "I like to know the names of the men I plan on fucking… My name is Anatoly. Sergivesky. And yours?"

The words get caught in his throat at the implication but Freddie finally manages a smile, his fingers finding their way into that curly hair that's just as soft as it looks.

"Freddie Trumper… Pleasure."

"Oh- It's gonna be."


End file.
